


(Top-Secret) Santa

by elrhiarhodan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: BAMF Merlin, Christmas fic, Completely Unrealistic Technology, Eggsy Unwin is a Little Shit, Eggsy's sad backstory, Gen, Harry Hart is a Little Shit, Kingsman Backstory, Kingsman Family, Merlin is a Little Shit (Kingsman), Not Kingsman: The Golden Circle Compliant, POV Eggsy Unwin, Too Many 1960s Television References, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, everyone is a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 05:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17420387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Eggsy returns from a long holiday in New Zealand, visiting with his mum and Daisy, when he gets a top-level secure message to report to Sublevel Twelve, Room Twenty-Five at HQ.  Despite the lack of sleep and horrific jet lag, Eggsy has no choice but to comply.  Harry meets him at the lifts and takes him to a very special room where some very special Kingsman work is done.





	(Top-Secret) Santa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anarchycox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/gifts).



> Written for Anarchycox, for her prompt "Merlin running the most terrifyingly organized secret santa event ever, like everyone is sure that they will die if they spill who they have or break the rules, but his people will have a magical christmas surprise or else." This was a great jumping off point for something that went quite a bit differently, but I hope they enjoy it.

Eggsy's on the bullet train and half-asleep when he gets a notice that there is a Level Five encrypted message waiting for retrieval. The bright red box flashing around the message header wakes him up quicker than a bucket of ice water thrown in his face. But being awake and being competent are two different things, and Eggsy struggles to complete all of the security protocols for a Level Five message without fucking things up.

He finally manages to jump through all of the hoops, answering the questions, inputting the data keys in the right sequence, winking with his right and left eyelids the required number of times. Real James Bond spy shit, if you ask him – which has become his by-word for 'ridiculous'. Actually, more like "Get Smart" – the classic American spoof of James Bond. (Eggsy had discovered clips from the old television show on the Internet and had started bugging Merlin for a shoe phone and a Cone of Silence. As a joke, of course. He'd only stopped when Merlin threatened to deactivate his glasses mid-mission and take away his Rainmaker.)

But all of that is irrelevant when the message finally opens. It's short and to the point.

_Basement Sublevel 12, Room 25, 0600. No excuses._

Eggsy sighs and checks his phone for the time. It's a little after five AM here in this green and pleasant land, and his body and mind are screaming for sleep. He has just returned from ten days on holiday in Wellington, New Zealand; his mum and baby sister had emigrated there about a year ago. Michelle had needed a fresh start and Eggsy's Aunt Jenny, had offered to give her newly divorced sister and niece a place to stay while Michelle got herself settled. To facilitate the transition from beaten down wife of a drug dealer to a productive member of society, Merlin had done Eggsy a favor and gotten Michelle's nursing license updated and transferred, giving Michelle Unwin a solid chance at a meaningful new life. 

Eggsy misses his mum and his sister something fierce, but he knows that Michelle would fall back into those self-destructive habits if she'd stayed in London. Emigrating to a new country, but with the backup of family, had been the best solution for her and for Daisy, who also needed a better shot at a good life. And seeing the pair of them healthy and happy, particularly Daisy, who'd become such a chatterbox that Eggsy's ears had rung with the sound of her sweet voice, had more than erased any feelings of abandonment.

Since the trip to New Zealand had been completely personal, Eggsy had to get home on a commercial flight, not a Kingsman jet. At least his Kingsman salary and the agency's connections had gotten him a business class ticket and then an upgrade to first class, so he hadn't been stuck in coach – another word for hell – for nearly twenty-four hours. The upgrade had also given him access to the luxurious airport lounges in Dubai and Sydney. These had been something out of Eggsy's teenaged fantasies, and he'd almost wished he'd been wearing a tuxedo to impress the attendants (not that the midnight blue Kingsman suit hadn't done the job, but teenage fantasies are, by their very definition, over the top).

As comfortable as first class had been, Eggsy had slept for a small part of the trip from Dubai to London. His sleep had been disjointed, broken by the difficult dreams he has whenever he flies. So he's now fighting against jet lag, exhaustion, and the residue of nightmares, and while he'd rather have gone right to his flat in Kensington, he'd gotten an innocuous but not-to-be-ignored message from Merlin to head to HQ when he got into Heathrow. 

He'd been halfway there when the Level Five message pinged on his glasses.

This is only the second time in his two years as a Kingsman that he's received a message with such high security. The first time had been six months into his tenure as Galahad. Eggsy had been on his way to Sweden (he'd become the Swedish Royal Family's go-to man for cleaning up a certain princess' messes) when his glasses pinged with a flashing red message. The pilot had gotten a similar message and turned the jet around in a maneuver worthy of Tom Cruise in _Top Gun_. Like this message, Eggsy had been instructed to report to a sublevel at HQ – not Twelve, but Four – and to put on an isolation suit before entering.

Eggsy had spent that hour-long flight home in a panic, imagining ever more bizarre scenarios. Did someone bring a contagion into Kingsman HQ and he's the only one left who can neutralize it? Bioweapons aren't a specialty for Eggsy; he's more of an up-close and personal kind of assassin, the one who'll stick a very sharp knife in the guts of a very bad man and keep on walking, but it he needed to do it, he would do it, it's all part of being a Kingsman. Eggsy had expected some general panic when he deplaned, but the workers in the Kingsman hanger had been behaving perfectly normal. 

Eggsy had made his way to the hidden bank of lifts that would take him to the basement sublevels, and stood still for the retinal scan that unlocked them. A second scan, plus his thumbprint had unlocked the access control panel for Sublevel Four, and upon arrival, he'd been greeted by one of Merlin's assistants, carrying a sealed packages with his isolation suit.

Eggsy had donned his bunny suit and found Merlin waiting for him on the other side of the clean room doors. It had been a weird thing, but even though Merlin's face was shielded behind a protective mask, Eggsy could tell that Merlin was happy about something. And not just in an ordinary way – he was delighted like a child with a much longed for but wholly unexpected Christmas gift.

"Ye'll need to be very quiet." That had been the only thing Merlin had said when he opened a door to reveal a hospital bed holding the once-dead-but-apparently-still-alive Harry Hart.

Any aggravation that Eggsy might have felt about such an overly dramatic recall to HQ had faded into oblivion at the sight of his mentor. Yeah, Harry had been hooked up to way too many machines, his head had been bandaged like a mummy's, and there was a ventilator helping him breathe, but all of the monitors were showing strong vitals and a steady heartbeat. He had only been allowed to stay for a few minutes, but that had been long enough to light a fire of hope and happiness.

So, eighteen months later, Eggsy's not letting himself get thrown into a panic because a Level Five secured message is sending him to another basement sublevel. At least this time, Eggsy isn't being ordered to put on an isolation suit. 

And another difference is that Harry is the one to greet him when the lift doors open. 

"Sorry for the dramatics, my boy."

"No worries, Haz. Needed something to snap me out of my jet lag."

As they walk along a brightly lit corridor, Harry asks with perfectly gentlemanly nonchalance, "How was your vacation?"

"It was aces. So great to see mum and Dais – she's growing like a weed. Mum is happy and she loves her work."

Harry nods. "That's wonderful to hear."

Eggsy asks Harry something he'd been afraid to verbalize before. "Is it bad of me to be glad that they're half a world away? That I don't have to lie to them every time I come home hurt? Does that make me a bad son?"

Harry shakes his head. "Not at all. You love your mother, but you know just how fragile she is. You don't want her to worry; you don't want to have to cut out parts of your life so she won't worry."

"Is this how you dealt with your family, back in the day?"

Harry shakes his head. "Not really. I wasn't close with my parents. Once I left university and entered the military instead of following in my father's footsteps, they had washed their hands of me." Harry lets out a small sigh. "I didn't even know my father had died until six weeks after he'd been laid to rest. My mother delivered an ultimatum – I was to give up my 'deviant' lifestyle as a limp-wristed tailor and assume the role I'd been born for or I'd never receive a penny from her."

"Which was?" Eggsy has never heard Harry say quite this much about his past or his family.

"Chairman of the Board of a failing company, where I would have had the privilege of overseeing the liquidation of the assets, milking the business as much as possible for the shareholders, while screwing the loyal employees into the ground. I told her to go spit – in as gentlemanly a fashion as possible – and stuck her with the lunch bill." Harry chuckles. "I'd never seen my mother turn so red so quickly. The old bat ended up living off of the carcass of my father's company for a dozen years. She died a dried out and desiccated corpse in some luxury villa in the Bahamas. I'd shocked Chester when I refused to take any bereavement time. He'd known her quite well – and quite possibly in the biblical sense."

Eggsy stops and blinks. "Your shitting me."

"I shit you not. In her prime, my mother had been quite the goer, and Chester had been a good looking man once upon a time. They had moved in the same social circles."

Eggsy shudders. He doesn't want to think about anyone – least of all Harry Hart's mother – having sex with Chester King.

"You can't get that image out of your head, can you?" Harry smirks and keeps on walking.

"You're a real shit, Arthur. You know that?"

"Absolutely. And please keep walking, Galahad. Excessive tardiness is an ungentlemanly quality."

After he stops laughing, Eggsy jogs a bit to catch up. "Where are we heading?"

"Wasn't the message clear? We're going to Sublevel Twelve, Room Twenty-Five."

"The message was clear, you berk. What I want to know is why. What's going on?"

"You'll see."

Eggsy can't restrain his curiosity. "Is it a mission?"

"Of sorts." Harry is being infuriatingly opaque.

"I thought that Kingsman doesn't start new missions during the last two weeks of December."

"Ah, but you had off the first two weeks of December, my boy."

"Only because you wouldn't approve my vacation for the _last_ two weeks. You said it would be best if I was back home for the holidays."

Harry doesn't say anything as they turn the corner. This stretch of endless hallway has no doors and it's a little creepy.

"What's going on?"

"There's nothing to worry about, just come along."

Eggsy's beginning to feel like the whole thing is just a massive prank. He wouldn't put that beyond Harry, who's been complaining of terminal boredom since he'd been voted in as Arthur. 

"Ever see _The Prisoner_ , Haz?"

"Of course. And I'd been a big fan of _Danger Man_ , too."

"Good, because I'm beginning to feel like I'm about to be taken to The Village."

"Nonsense, Eggsy. Kingsman agents don't retire. If they don't die in the field, they are executed at the end of their useful life."

Eggsy stops in his tracks. "What the ever loving fuck?"

Harry stops, too. "Haven't you ever looked at the portraits in Memorial Hall? Read the plaques?"

"Nooooo?" Eggsy does his best not to start hyperventilating.

"When you get a chance, do so. The portraits of agents who don't die in the field are marked with a small 'e' after the death year. If you make it to sixty-five, you'll have the choice of poison or a bullet through the brain."

"Tell me you're fucking kidding me, please."

Harry just looks at him, his face a perfectly expressionless mask. And then his eyes twinkle and he starts to laugh. "Oh, my dear boy. The look on your face is absolutely priceless."

Eggsy lets out a deep breath. "I knew you were taking the piss." But that being said, he's definitely going to check the plaques on each and every portrait in the Memorial Hall.

"Now, come along. Merlin is waiting for us." 

They finally get to the end of the corridor, and Eggsy's relieved to find a pair of doors with the usual biometric locks. He and Harry take turns with the retinal scanner and the hand scanner and Eggsy winks at the overhead cameras as the doors unlock and slowly swing inward.

Those aren't ordinary doors. They are extraordinary doors, even for Kingsman: two feet thick with inside hinges as wide as Eggsy's wrist. These are blast doors, the kind found in nuclear facilities; Eggsy's seen more times of these in his two years as a Kingsman than he'd like to admit.

And he's not going to put himself on the other side of these doors until he finds out what's going on. "Arthur, an explanation, please."

"Oh, do come on, Eggsy. You're behaving like I'm leading you to your doom."

"With good reason! You just made a joke about killing agents once they get past their sell-by date, and frankly, the whole Level Five message thing and this creepy subbasement is getting to me. If you don't tell me what I'm getting myself into, I'm going home and going to bed."

Harry makes a face – the "I'm so disappointed" one that Eggsy had once feared, but now doesn't seem to have any effect on him. Maybe because Harry is a little shit and uses it at every chance he gets. "If you leave, I'll lock you out of lift access and you'll just end up sleeping on the floor in front of the lifts until Boxing Day."

Eggsy can't quite believe that Harry would keep him locked in a sublevel out of spite, but then he would never have believed that Harry's mum might have shagged Chester King. "Come on. I'm tired and you're playing head games with me. There's nothing about this jaunt that justifies the urgency of a Level Five message."

"My dear boy, Level Five has nothing to do with urgency and everything to do with secrecy. Didn't they tell you that when they made you Galahad?" 

Eggsy thinks back and maybe has to agree. When he'd been sworn in as Galahad, there'd been so much he'd still needed to learn and so little time to actually learn it – what with the world going to shit and everything. "Okay, right. Level Five is the highest level of secrecy in all Kingsman digital communications." 

"Correct. And what goes on behind these doors is one of the great secrets of Kingsman, known only to a very select few. If you can arse yourself to step across the threshold, you'll become part of that group."

Eggsy can't escape the feeling that this is a trick; not something evil or harmful, but it just doesn't seem like it's quite on the up and up. But how can he turn down this invitation? "If I say 'no', what happens?"

"I'll shoot you with an amnesia dart and you'll wake up in your quarters with all the symptoms of a jet lag-exacerbated hangover."

"Except I don't drink, Haz. Not like that." Eggsy's not above a glass of Scotch or a martini or a pint, but never more than one and rarely more than twice a week. He's seen what drink has done to his mum and he'll be damned if he follows that path.

"Well, you were lonely and missing your family and made an exception."

"Not going to happen." Eggsy crosses his arms over his chest.

Harry just sighs. "It's all hypothetical, my boy. And your behavior is making me wonder what happened to the young man who followed me without question into the fitting room of a tailor shop that had been closed for the night. You've become quite paranoid since then."

"Not without good reason." Eggsy _does_ want to go in, but it's now become a matter of principle not to.

 _"Galahad, get yer arse in here. And Arthur, stop scaring the lad. He's done nothing to deserve it. Today."_ Eggsy jumps; he hadn't expected an intervention from the quartermaster. But he's not above giving some sass back. "Merlin, why is it that you always sound much more Scottish over the comms than you do in person?"

_"I don't know, why don't you come in and we can discuss my accent face to face."_

Eggsy looks up at the camera again and this time he sticks out his tongue.

"It's time to fish or cut bait, my boy." Harry makes a point of exposing the Bremont and pointing it at him. "Or as some might say, shit or get off the pot."

Eggsy glares at Harry. "Times like this make me wonder why I mourned you so hard."

Harry just laughs and Eggsy gives him the finger before stepping across the threshold. Eggsy looks around and forgets about Bremonts and amnesia darts and just how Scottish Merlin sounds over the comms.

"What is this?" There are rows of tables and sacks of mail next to each one, and beyond the tables are piles of toys stacked to the ceiling. Eggsy recognizes a few of his fellow agents and quite a number of support personnel working at the tables – some are opening lettings, others are wrapping gifts. And in the most surreal touch of all, there's an elderly man who Eggsy thinks he recognizes as one of the kitchen staff pushing a tea cart, but instead of a white toque and a chef's coat, he's wearing an elf hat and a red and green jumper. Like everyone else.

It's truly fucking creepy. Maybe this _is_ the Kingsman version of The Village.

Merlin appears, as if he's truly a magician. "This is the headquarters for Santa, Inc., Great London Urban Area Division. And ye'll need to put on the uniform before ye get to work." Merlin hands him an elf cap and a red and green jumper. 

"Do I really have to wear this crap?"

"Watch yer mouth, laddie. This is a place where wishes come true." Merlin is dead serious.

"Okay … " Eggsy takes off his suit jacket and hands it to Merlin so he can put on the sweater. He spots Harry doing the same and grins. Harry Hart, fashion plate of the espionage world, is wearing the world's ugliest Christmas jumper – it's actually got a Cairn terrier in its own Christmas sweater appliquéd onto it. Then Eggsy looks down and realizes that his has an even worse motif – a pug with a red pom-pom nose and reindeer antlers.

He notices that Merlin seems to have been spared the hideously ugly Christmas jumpers, instead dressed in a solid crimson version of his usual jumper with the gun patches. "Merls, why are you so special? How come you're not wearing one of these fashion disasters?"

"Because I'm Santa, that's why." Merlin tosses Eggsy's suit jacket back to him. "Now, put on that cap and follow me."

"Good one, you're Santa Claus. Missing the beard and belly, guv." Eggsy gives Merlin a mock leer, from head to toe, and nearly loses his composure when he sees that in addition to the crimson sweater, Merlin's wearing matching red trousers.

"Lad, I _am_ Santa Claus. For the Greater London Urban Area." 

Eggsy opens his mouth and closes it again. Merlin is speaking in the same utterly serious tone he uses when he's saving an agent's ass in the middle of a firefight.

"Guv?"

Merlin looks over Eggsy's shoulder, at Harry. "He's yer protégé, ye should have explained everything to him instead of jerking his chain about what Kingsman does to its elderly agents."

"Well, I wasn't going to tell him that they get put to work here to handle off-season business. Not when he doesn't quite understand what goes on here to begin with." Harry's affecting that high-posh, super toff-y attitude that would make the late Chester King seem like he came from the Estates.

Eggsy's beyond tired, beyond fed up, and he's about to throw a fit that would put one of Daisy's tantrum's to shame. "Maybe if someone explained, in the Queen's English, just what's going on, I might not have a breakdown."

Merlin nods, as if he realizes just how close to losing it Eggsy is. "Arthur, ye get to work – that bag of mail is only going to grow if ye don't. I'll show the lad around and explain just what's going on."

To Eggsy's surprise, Harry tamely follows Merlin's orders and sits down at one of the tables, opens the canvas mail sack, and starts … working.

"Follow me, Eggsy, and pay attention. I don't want to have to explain things twice."

Merlin takes Eggsy to an empty table, as far as possible from the one Harry's sitting at, and pushes Eggsy into the chair. It's one of those ultra-modern and super-ergonomic kind that are popular in Merlin's domain but found nowhere else on Kingsman property. Merlin sits on the edge of the desk and commands Eggsy's attention.

"I wasn't joking with ye about being Santa."

Eggsy nods and decides it's best to play along. Merlin might like to play head games with the trainees, but he's the consummate professional when it comes to the agents themselves.

"Kingsman might be an independent intelligence organization, but it's also the London area headquarters for Santa Claus."

"Okaaaay." Eggsy wonders if he can get in touch with Kingsman medical staff to see if Merlin needs to have any prescription anti-psychotics refilled.

"Ye really didn't think that Santa Claus manages to visit every single house in one night, did ye?"

"Bruv, I hate to break it to you, but Santa doesn't exist. If you're lucky, you don't find out that your parents are pretending to be Santa until you're old enough not to care. If you're unlucky, some bloke visits you the day before Christmas to tell your mum that her husband's dead."

Merlin blinks and somehow looks utterly deflated. "Jesus, Eggsy – I'm sorry about that. I just – " Merlin lets out a hefty sigh and runs a hand across his head, displacing the red Santa hat. "I just completely forgot. If ye want to go, I'll take ye back upstairs. And no amnesia dart. Ye'll keep quiet about this, I know that. Ye never grassed on anyone and ye'r not about to start now." 

Eggsy thinks for a minute, about apologizing, about accepting Merlin's offer of an out, and realizes that whatever this place is, whatever this place does, it's something real and something good. "Tell me about Santa Inc., the Greater London Urban Area Division. And no bullshit about Santa Claus delivering presents by hopping down chimneys."

Merlin nods. "All right. No bullshit. We are doing the work of Santa, but we are not 'Santa'. Do ye get the distinction?"

"Not really?" There's a glimmer of understanding but Eggsy wants Merlin to give him the complete picture.

"Ye know the story behind the founding of Kingsman, of course. But there's a part that's been kept secret."

"The secret Santa part?" Eggsy can't resist the pun.

Merlin pretends he doesn't get the joke. "Exactly. After the founding, one of the more philanthropically-inclined members had been concerned about all of the fatherless children left behind from the Great War. He'd thought that Christmas must be the hardest of all seasons and had wanted to do something to brighten up their lives." Merlin has the grace to look ashamed as he relays the story.

And Eggsy isn't quite strong enough to hold back on his feelings. "I guess that the idea of making a fatherless child's life a little brighter had somehow been forgotten. Seeing as I never heard nothing from Kingsman for my entire fucking and fucked up childhood."

"We deserve your ire. But there's a reason for that – "

"Really? I'm eager to hear it." Eggsy crosses his arms over his chest, squishing down the red pom-pom on the jumper.

"What we do here – " Merlin makes a grand gesture around the vast room, "is answer children's letters to Santa. And ye never wrote to Santa after Harry had visited."

"Yeah. Kind of hard to believe in Santa Claus when you find out your dad's dead right before Christmas." Eggsy puts the puzzle together. "And so I've never gotten a gift from Santa because Kingsman didn't get a letter from me."

"Aye, lad. And for that, I'm sorry. Sorry for the years of neglect, sorry no one ever even checked up on ye and yer mum."

As nice as it is to hear, Eggsy knows that the past can't be changed. "Forget about it, it's over, it's done. I'm a Kingsman now myself. And also, apparently, an elf." Eggsy finally puts on the green elf cap and taps the brass bell on the tip. "And you're the world's skinniest Santa Claus."

Merlin gives Eggsy the stink-eye. "Being Merlin means I run this operation. As did the Merlin before me, and the one before him. I've just incorporated technology to streamline the process, make it more reliable, more scaleable."

"Of course you have. Because you're Merlin and you can't stand inefficiencies, especially those that can be fixed with a little application of technology."

"Exactly right, Galahad."

"So, what exactly am I doing while I'm here?"

"Like the other knights who've been let in on this secret operation, you'll have one of the most important jobs of all."

From across the room, Harry shouts, "Don't believe that, Eggsy. We're all little more than glorified data processors."

"For that, Arthur, ye get all of the rejects to process. The ones that need to be inputted manually. And ye'll be doing that for the next three shifts." 

"Shit buggering fuck."

"Make that the next five shifts, and if I hear another profanity out of ye, I'll lock ye out of the elevators and ye'll be stuck here until sunset on Boxing Day."

Eggsy hears Harry grumble, but no more curse words. 

"So, is Harry right about the data processing?"

"In a way, he's absolutely correct."

Harry's still listening and shouts, "See! I'm going to mark this down on my calendar. Merlin admits I'm right, without qualification."

Merlin just sighs and shakes his head and ignores Harry. "What you're doing is processing letters to Santa, reading them and picking a few items that will then be delivered to the household. There's a list of toys and games and books that our software has predicted will be requested in about sixty-two percent of the letters – that's up from forty-nine percent just five years ago. Those letters are the easy ones to address and we've fully automated the process." Merlin gestures to the wall of wrapped boxes. "You and other Kingsman get to read the remaining thirty-eight percent of the letters and pick a few items that will then be acquired and delivered. You need to use adult judgment – "

"In other words, no ponies or puppies or howler monkeys." Eggsy is definitely getting interested in this.

"Aye, exactly. Ye'll have a daily budget and ye're goal is to spend that budget down to the last pence. If, at the end of yer shift, ye still have letters and no money left, ye're going to make some children very unhappy."

Eggsy wonders why those letters can't be picked up by the next shift, but far be it from him, the newbie, to question Merlin (or quite possible Santa, for the Greater London Urban Area). So he focuses on the practicalities. "Please tell me we're using Amazon for our shopping."

"Of course. I might like reinventing the wheel on occasion, but there's always a time and place for that, and Christmas isn't one of them."

Eggsy agrees with that completely. He might have some objections (okay, quite a few) about how Amazon treats its warehouse workers (Eggsy had once done a week at the fulfillment center in Hemel Hempstead, but quit when he'd realized that Dean expected him to steal, not actually pack the stuff he'd picked for shipments. It had also been worse than working the overnight shift at Maccy D's by several orders of magnitude) but Amazon has a reach and scale that can't be replicated, especially not for an operation that runs just for the month of December.

Merlin spends the next half hour showing Eggsy how to use the system – from taking apart the letters and scanning them to selecting the right items, to managing his daily budget.

"What happens if I spend every pence and finish my bag of letters?" Eggsy has visions of bells going off and balloons falling from the ceiling.

"Ye get a pat on the shoulder."

"Oh." That seems a rather paltry reward. 

Harry, who apparently has near-supernatural hearing, chimes in _again_. "It's never happened. No agent has ever come up zero on their last letter. Not even me."

"Harry, I' delighted to tell ye that yer wrong. It's been done a few times; the last time was three years ago when Bors managed to pull the double-zero. It's ye that's never even come close – last year, ye spend a thousand pounds of yer own money to finish yer last bag."

"It was actually one thousand four hundred and seventy two pounds. And fifty-seven pence."

Merlin just shakes his head. "And no, Eggsy, yer not expected to use yer own money to make up the difference. Harry's just an extravagant git who doesn't think the rules apply to him."

"I am Arthur. That should give me _some_ leeway."

"And I'm Santa, and here, my word is law."

Harry, of course, has to retort, "You'd think, with all the years that Chester had spent in ignorance of this operation, you might find some extra funding for an Arthur who actually cares that children are happy."

Merlin's about to answer but Eggsy shakes his head and replies for his quartermaster. "Seems to me, Harry, you only care when it's convenient. Don't remember seeing you much around the holidays when I was a kid." Eggsy doesn't worry if he's crossed a line. He might be interested in Kingsman's secret Santa operation, but he's still pretty fucking jet-lagged.

It's dead quiet in the room, as if everyone has just stopped breathing. Finally Harry responds. "Are you going to hold that over my head forever?"

"Nah, Haz. It's not a weapon I can fire over and over again, is it?" 

Harry chuckles, "No, my boy, it isn't."

"So I'll be sure to make every shot count."

"Just like I've taught you."

Eggsy can see that Merlin's trying hard to hold it together, and figures it's best to stay on Santa's good side. "Okay, how about I run a few letters, you tell me where I'm going wrong, and how to make sure I'm not going to blow my budget during first hour."

Merlin does just that, letting Eggsy go through the process and giving him a few pointers along the way. "See that box on the bottom of the left screen?"

"Yeah." It's a six digit number.

"That's yer budget."

Eggsy blinks. "Bruv, that's over a half a million quid."

"Aye, Galahad, it is. And ye're expected to spend all of it within the next eight hours." Merlin points out another box – a timer – at the top of the right screen. "You don't work a minute over shift. Someone will come in to take over for the next eight hours when yer done."

Eggsy sighs. "I hope I can get a lot of coffee, because I'm still seriously jet lagged." He waits for Merlin's snarky comment about it being his choice to go to the Antipodes for a vacation, but it doesn't come. Instead, Merlin gestures for the geriatric tea boy to come over.

"Roland will keep ye topped up, and ye'll get regular breaks. This isn't a sweatshop."

Armed with a jumbo sized coffee in a spill-proof mug, Eggsy gets to work. Merlin's set-up is really kind of sweet – especially the multiple screens – and it's clear that a lot of thought and a tonne of money went into it. In addition to the shift timer and the live budget tracker, there's a counter letting him know how many letters he's processed and how many he has to go. There are also visual cookies – pictures of Eggsy with Roxy and other agents, even with Harry, that flash on the screen every ten minutes or so. It's not a worker's paradise, but it's not Amazon fulfillment center hell either.

An hour and a half in and the system locks up, flashing an alert that Eggsy needs to get up and walk around for a few minutes. He uses the opportunity to relieve himself of the processed coffee and to wash up. Harry comes in just as Eggsy's drying his hands.

"You doing all right, my boy?"

The "my boy" is a good indicator that Harry's not holding Eggsy's snarky reprimand against him. "Doing good, Haz. Love the jumper, by the way."

Harry looks down at his torso and grins. "It is really kind of special. One of a kind. Just like yours."

To Eggsy's deep shock, Harry's not being ironic; he truly loves his ugly jumper. "Is that supposed to be Mr. Pickle?"

"Absolutely. And what do you think of your rendition of JB?"

"This is from you?" Eggsy has a horrible thought, that Harry's a secret knitter and made this for him.

"I saw something similar in a shop on Regent Street a few months ago – one of those places with handmade knitwear – and couldn't resist ordering one specially made for you. Merlin believes that wearing a seasonally colored uniform helps with morale, and he'd given his approval when I'd sent him a picture of it. Otherwise, you'd be wearing something plain and unadorned." Harry's smiling and waiting for Eggsy's approval, much like JB when he manages to return the ball Eggsy's tossed in his direction.

Tired and no longer in the mood to jerk anyone's chain (or maybe it's the Christmas spirit), Eggsy says, "It's nice. Kind of different and it really does look like JB."

Harry laughs and claps Eggsy on the shoulder, "It's pretty fucking ugly."

Eggsy laughs; relieved that Harry hasn't gone off the deep end. "It is. It really fucking is."

"But you're wearing it with pride."

"Like the suits you've had made for me."

Harry gives Eggsy that look of paternal fondness and approval that Eggsy still lives for, and will probably continue to live for, until Harry dies of old age many decades from now.

"You better get back, unless you want Merlin to penalize you."

Eggsy has a slight heart attack. "Penalize? Merlin's said nothing about penalties."

"Well, he's done it to me if I take too many breaks – subtracted funds from my budget, added letters to my bag."

Eggsy doesn't say that Merlin probably does that because Harry Hart can be a complete and utter shit and this is just a small way to repay him for years of facepalming, headdesking, and general aggravation. But he does walk a little quickly back to his desk, catching Merlin's eye as he sits down and gets back to work.

The hours pass quickly – far quicker that Eggsy would have thought. Maybe because he's spent too many endless days on rooftops and in alleyways, waiting for the moment to act. If Kingsman's taught him anything, it's how to be patient. And still. But on reflection, this is different. This is desk work, something he's never thought he'd be suited for. But it's interesting and a challenge, and if there's anything that Eggsy enjoys, it's a challenge. 

Seven hours and forty-five minutes in, he's got five letters left and about a three hundred quid remaining in his budget. Eggsy's gotten good at figuring out how to buy and what things cost and he knows that if he works it just right, he might – _might_ – spend down every single pence and pound.

Processing the next to last letter leaves Eggsy with just sixty quid and change, and he quickly scans through the last one in his bag. It's from a little boy and by the handwriting, Eggsy thinks the writer is about five or six years old. There are a number of pretty specific requests for toys for his cat, Mistr Marcus Macaroni (because MMM is the most awesome kitty in the world and Santa needs to make sure MMM isnt left out). But for himself, the little boy – Jamie – asks for "anything Dragon" and "anything MCU but WW is good too even tho shes in DCU" and "I like books". 

Eggsy blinks at that last item. The "k" on the word "books" isn't fully formed, and to his tired eyes, it first looks like "I like boobs". There are two more items on the list, a request for "a squirel" and "a jar of peanut buter".

Eggsy does a quick search through Amazon and finds a highly-rated series of books for the younger set called "My Father's Dragon", a bunch of MCU action figures, the children's novelization of the recent Wonder Woman movie, and a stuffed toy squirrel, all of which go into his shopping cart. That leaves Eggsy with just two pounds, sixty-five pence in his budget. On a whim, he goes to the Amazon grocery section and searches for peanut butter. To his utter delight, there is a jar of Skippy Smooth Peanut Butter and he adds it to his shopping cart. With three seconds to go, Eggsy completes the purchase. 

He's got no letters, no money and no time left. As promised, no bells ring and no balloons fall from the ceiling, but it doesn't matter. Eggsy pushes away from the desk and leans back, feeling pretty fucking pleased with himself. 

His first day on the job and he's done the near-impossible. Par for the course, he'd say.

"Nice work, lad." Merlin's standing behind him. 

Eggsy nods. "Yeah. Wasn't all that hard. Like saving the world, just with a lot fewer exploding heads."

Harry joins them, peers at Eggsy's screen and chuckles when he sees Eggsy's statistics. "You are my protégé and as with every other one of your incredible achievements, I'm going to take full credit."

"Of course you are, Haz. That's what mentors do." Eggsy gets up and stretches, enjoying how his joints pop. As he pulls off the elf cap, Eggsy feels an epic yawn coming on that he doesn't bother to stifle. To his amusement, it's contagious and both Merlin and Harry yawn, too.

"I'm done for." If his calculations are correct, he's been awake for forty-six hours – not counting the unpleasant cat naps on the flight out of Dubai.

"Go home, Galahad." Merlin makes a shooing gesture. "Ye too, Arthur."

Eggsy asks, "Back here tomorrow?"

"Unless yer needed to save the world."

"God, I hope not."

Eggsy lets Harry usher him out and they are silent during the long walk back to the elevators. Eggsy enjoys the quiet moment with Harry, they don't have too many of these. Harry has his hands full as Arthur and Eggsy's generally busy with missions. He'll have dinner with Roxy on the rare occasion that they are both in town at the same time; but otherwise, he rarely gets the chance to spend time with his anyone from Kingsman outside of Kingsman business. It's probably how it's supposed to be, but Eggsy genuinely likes Harry. He likes Merlin, too. And his fellow knights – the ones he's had a chance to get to know – are decent blokes and he wouldn't mind sharing a pint with them.

They finally reach the lift bank and Eggsy sighs deeply.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing, just tired."

Eggsy feels Harry's eyes on him, but he doesn't elaborate. He might be a social creature, but he also prefers to keep his thoughts to himself.

The doors open, revealing Percival and Roxy. The four of them spend a few minutes chatting, Harry and Percival exchanging some pleasantries for the season. Roxy looks puzzled. "Didn't expect to see you here."

Eggsy just shrugs. He doesn't know if Roxy has been down to Sublevel Twelve and in Room Twenty-Five yet, so he keeps his mouth shut. "You still going to your mum's for Christmas?"

"Yes, couldn't get out of it. Will be there through Boxing Day, unless I'm recalled. What are you doing?"

"Nothing much. Plan on catching up on some reports, will Facetime with Mum and Daisy the day before, but I'll probably end up sleeping in, defrost a pizza for dinner, watch a bunch of movies on the actual day of."

"I'd invite you, but …" Roxy looks at Percival, her uncle, and they both grimace. Percival's sister is a bit of a snob, to put it politely.

"Yeah, I know." While Eggsy's RP is good enough to cut diamonds now, the one time he'd met Cecile Morton-Hindes, he'd barely survived the interrogation. Spending a week in a grand estate in Derbyshire with the Morton clan and their snooty friends is not Eggsy's idea of a good time, especially when he's missing his own mum and sister something fierce.

He gives Roxy a tight hug, wishes Percival the best of the season and lets them go. He gets into the lift with Harry and tries not to feel sad. 

"I didn't know you were going to be by yourself on Christmas."

"It's okay. Mum and Daisy are where they need to be. I'm where I need to be. It's good."

"No, not really." Harry turns and gives Eggsy a stern look. "You should never be afraid to tell us what you need – if not me, then Merlin. We're worthless if we let our friends suffer for no good reason."

Eggsy ducks his head, letting the warmth of Harry's words sink in. "Friends?"

"Yes, friends. You've managed to work your way into our hearts. Or as Merlin might say, 'wormed yer way'."

Eggsy smiles at Harry's atrocious attempt at a Scottish brogue.

Harry asks, with studied nonchalance, "Would you like to have dinner with us on Christmas Eve? Spend part of the day?"

"With us?" Eggsy has to wonder who Harry – a confirmed bachelor who had once told him that he'd never dated anyone for longer than two weeks – spends his holidays with.

"Merlin and I – we've done Christmas dinner and Boxing Day morning together for the last twenty years or so, at least when I'm not out saving the world and he's not needed to make sure no one is getting killed."

 _Merlin, of course. Who else would Harry spend the holiday with, if not his best friend?_ Eggsy doesn't have to think about whether or not to accept the invitation. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Good. You can bring dessert."

Eggsy chuckles. "Because no gentleman arrives empty handed?"

"Exactly."

It's another endless walk to the bullet train, but at least they don't have long to wait for the train to arrive. 

Eggsy rests his head against the seat and lets out a sigh of satisfaction. "You know something, Haz?"

"I know plenty of things, Eggsy." Harry sits, one leg crossed over the other, hands resting on his knees. The perfect picture of the ultimate gentleman.

Eggsy grins. "This might just be the best assignment I've had since becoming a Kingsman. Thanks for bringing me along."

Harry nods. "It's been my pleasure. And a happy Christmas, my dear boy."

"Happy Christmas to you, too." Eggsy says those words and for the first time in his life, he means them.

 

__

FIN


End file.
